tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84589642015-09-16T17:08:14.175-07:00Motivational Writings by Scott "Q" Marcus, Recovering PrefectionistThe ideas, articles, observations, and feelings of THINspirational Speaker, Columnist, and Recovering Perfectionist, Scott "Q" Marcus
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<b>(His Website for coaching is <a href="http://www.ThisTimeImeanIt.com">www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com.com</a>)</b>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-70256834197978112242013-01-03T10:34:00.001-08:002013-01-03T10:34:58.877-08:00Finding Happiness as an Imperfect Being: Scot...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cpVNxwJmHic" width="459">My video on TEDx. Please share. <br /></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-44572988304180442162013-01-02T15:52:00.003-08:002013-01-02T15:52:49.338-08:00<a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/blurred-horses.jpg"><img alt="" class="size-full wp-image-5302 aligncenter" height="136" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/blurred-horses.jpg" title="racing horses" width="400" /></a> <b>&nbsp;</b><br /><b>Like so many thoroughbreds exploding onto the track at Churchill Downs, the gates have burst wide and the race to resolutions has begun.</b> “Here we go again!” was first out but is already off the pace. “This Time It’ll Be Different” is fading quickly, but, the across the board favorite “Throw in the Towel” is once again moving up rapidly on the inside. <br /><h2>Alas, ‘tis January, and we have entered the silly season.</h2><a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/man-lifting-weights.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="exercise motivation" class="alignright wp-image-3994" height="247" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/man-lifting-weights-297x300.jpg" style="margin: 2px 5px;" title="man-lifting-weights" width="244" /></a>Barely two weeks ago, it was difficult to find a parking space at the mall — but no longer. Rather, it’s simpler than locating one at the health club. TV ads no longer tempt with sugary visions of chocolaty treats, opting to substitute video of hard-bodied men and bikini-clad women sweating to the latest exercise DVD available for three easy payments of $19.95. Interviews with specialists pontificating on the best value in gym memberships have supplanted chefs who provided recipes for holiday goodies. Store windows are now chock-a-block bloated with displays of diet pills, quick smoking solutions, and self-help books.<br /><br />If you, like me, grow weary at this annual festival of advice; fret not, as it’ll be as long gone as last year’s chocolate Hanukkah gelt come Valentine’s Day. My question is, since it never works, “Why do we keep doing it?”<br /><br />Oh sure, we’re a pretty self-critical bunch; never totally content with our lot in life. Lose a few pounds, get fit, spend more time with the family, work less, earn more, tuck this, grow that… it’s a never-ending catalog of imperfections. Yet, we can work on those any time. Why don’t we? Instead, every January, on the heels of two months of hedonistic over-indulgence, we stop for a moment to take self-inventory. After getting past the depression that follows such an unhappy assessment, we courageously commit to change every single solitary individual behavior that makes us feel sad or look bad. Within weeks — sometimes merely days — we’re exhausted by too much change in too short of a time, gorge on Valentine’s candy, and give up, proclaiming, “There’s always next year.”<br /><br /><b>Ready to break the cycle? It’s much simpler than expected.</b><br /><h2>As a New Year’s public service, I present a four-step-plan to a happier you.</h2><ol><li><b>Now is the time, whenever “now” is.</b> When the spirit moves you, don’t wait; not until next Monday, next month, or even until tomorrow. When the desire to change hits is when we’re most inspired — and it might not last. Don’t waste that opportunity.</li><li><b>The larger the commitment </b>(call it a “resolution” if you absolutely must)<b>, the more support necessary.</b> Not only are you altering your own behaviors — but you’re forcing those around you to change how they interact with you. Recognize that, as well as their feelings in this process. Tell them what you want to do – and build support. Oh yeah, it’s also good to remind yourself that if you could do it on your own, you already would have.</li><li><b>The simpler the change, the more likely its success.</b> For example, if your goal is to exercise more, it makes more sense to promise you’ll walk a block every day — and really do it — then it does to swear you’re going to run a mile, but never get around to it.</li><li><b>Setbacks are not failures.</b> The process of change is a few steps forward interspersed with several stumbles. Like anything else you’ve mastered (career, relationships, skills), it’s not linear upward growth. You’ll fall down; count on it. Ask yourself what tripped you up, and then repeat steps one to three as necessary with overcoming that as your next goal.</li></ol><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>About the author:</b>Scott “Q” Marcus is the CRP (Chief Recovering Perfectionist) of <a href="http://www.thistimeimeanit.com/">www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com</a>, a website to support folks frustrated with making promises and ready to make a change in a supportive environment. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or at <a href="http://facebook.com/thistimeimeanit">facebook.com/thistimeimeanit</a>. Enjoy and share his playful TEDx talk, “Finding Happiness as an Imperfect Being” at <a href="http://bit.ly/ScottsTEDx">http://bit.ly/ScottsTEDx</a></i></span><br /><ol>&nbsp;</ol><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-87751454904994616702012-09-05T11:02:00.001-07:002012-09-05T11:49:56.727-07:00My Dog Doesn't Understand Me<a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/man-and-dog-running.jpg"><img class="size-full wp-image-4872 aligncenter" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px;" title="man-and-dog-running" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/man-and-dog-running.jpg" alt="" height="252" width="411" /></a><br /><h2>Fret not; that thumping, rhythmic, heavy pulsing sound behind you is not the noise of Heaven and Earth colliding.</h2><br />Rather, ‘tis the pounding of my sneakers as they hit the pavement while I jog. Yes, you read that correctly. I am now jogging. (Well, not this minute of course; it’s difficult to type while running.)<br /><br /><strong>I had more excuses than a double bacon cheeseburger has calories</strong> to avoid huffing and puffing down the street. They ran the gamut from “I might pass out,” to “I’ll look silly.” (Of course the latter pre-supposes that I don’t naturally look “silly,” which might be up for debate.) Yet, recently, my walks have — at times — become my jogs.<br /><h3>What pray tell, you might ask, has caused this transformation on par with the changing of the earth’s axis?</h3><br /><strong>I am the recipient of a neat-o, boss, whiz-bang, plaything that plugs into my computer called an accelerometer.</strong> As I understand, an accelerometer “knows” where it is in space. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t know it is in Eureka or Portland, but it is able to discern when it moves from one location to another, and at what velocity. Therefore, while it is on my person; should I go to and fro, hither and yon, nigh and far, or up and down; it measures that movement and speed. After an initial multi-day “assessment,” it computes my baseline activity level and sets up a 12-week challenge, gradually increasing my activity level. The result is I become more active, and hence, healthier — and hopefully thinner.<br /><br />Each evening (as well as an obsessive number of times per day), I place it still on a flat surface to watch the ring of green LEDs glow. Should at least four of the six do so, I’m at 100% of my daily goal. Oh happy day! On the contrary, should I receive less than four, I better get moving.<br /><h3>At day’s end, I realized I forgot to check my progress.</h3><br /><a name='more'></a>Placing it still, I sadly counted three lights. Refusing to let a small white inanimate device tell me I’m sub par, I grabbed my dog’s leash (with dog attached), slapped a headlamp on my forehead, and proceeded into the darkness, determined to achieve today’s goal. To fend off the night’s chill, I opted to move at a quicker pace. Before one could say, “You look silly,” I was jogging, my headlamp flapping up and down, making for an annoying strobe effect on the sidewalk ahead. To be honest, a jogging aficionado would look at what I call “jogging” the same way a chef would look at a TV dinner as “fine cuisine.” I am clumsy; I breathe heavy, and since my dog is in tow, a more accurate description of this activity would be "jog and pee." (I jog, he pees — just to make sure you are not confused as to who does what...)<br /><br /><strong>Despite its barriers, it is an enjoyable way to phase into “jogging.”</strong> We run about 100 yards, he stops to mark something. Then, we run to the next tree, telephone pole, or bush. (It’s surprising how much the bladder of a 21-pound mini-schnauzer can hold.) Sometimes he’ll skip a stop, deferring to my desire to keep moving; and since we’re teammates (and since I need to breathe), I periodically accede to his desire to inspect a large clump of grass. Yet, ever onward we huff.<br /><br /><em>I must admit however, I wonder if he thinks, “YOU want to get fit so I have to get out of bed? How fair is that?” But, then again, he can’t count LEDs, so he just doesn’t understand.</em><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-20641775723646527752012-04-18T17:20:00.000-07:002012-04-18T17:21:43.629-07:00You're gonig to wear THAT for your wedding?<p style="text-align: left;"><strong><a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/bride-holding-flowers.jpg"><img class="aligncenter wp-image-4194" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; width: 381px; height: 254px;" title="Bride Holding Bouquet Of Flowers" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/bride-holding-flowers.jpg" alt="" /></a><br /></strong></p><p style="text-align: left;"><strong>I do not wish to be the type of person who slowly, sadly shakes his head, pining for a simpler past, longingly opening conversations with “When I was a kid…”</strong> Moreover, when I become aware of an unfortunate societal trend, I try to prevent cranking up my inner curmudgeon, cynically inquiring of my peers, “What has gone wrong with our society?”</p>Having said that, <strong>something has gone wrong with our society</strong> because — when I was a kid — brides-to-be didn’t shove tubes up their noses to lose weight before their weddings.<br /><br />While skimming TV channels, images of young women commuting to work with feeding tubes hanging from their noses flitted across the screen. They didn’t seem ill; quite the contrary, they looked to be “in the pink” (yet another reference from “when I was a kid”). The reporter explained that some women with upcoming nuptials are resorting to a severe calorie-restricted crash diet to drop ten to 20 pounds in the two weeks prior to their big days. That unto itself is not newsworthy; long before “I was a kid,” I imagine women (and even some men) resorted to last minute diets in order to present their best in front of friends, family, and God.<br /><br /><strong>What was exceptional</strong> was that, in these cases, the method of choice consisted of consuming only 800 calories a day, delivered in the form of shakes served through a medically implanted feeding tube threaded through the woman’s nose, down the esophagus, and into her stomach. The tube remains in place ten days and the procedure costs about $1,500. Side effects include bad breath, constipation and dizziness. (Nothing says, “kiss the bride” like halitosis.) The doctor performing the procedure said, “At first I decided not to do it for people who just want to lose a few pounds. But then I thought, why should I say five or ten pounds are not enough? People want to be perfect.”<br /><h3>As long as there has been belly fat, there have been odd and controversial get-thin-quick schemes.</h3><br />Yet, this is beyond the pale.<a name='more'></a><br /><br /><strong>First of all, restrict your daily intake to 800 calories and it makes no difference whether you consume carrots, cottage cheese, or cognac.</strong> You’ll have no choice but to drop several pounds a week. That doesn’t mean it’s healthy, and it belies the bigger question: What is it with this unattainable, unrealistic goal of achieving “perfection?” It’s a fantasy state that remains forever out of reach; its pursuit generates self-loathing, frustration — and in cases like these — possible medical complications.<br /><br />I’m not saying show should show up to the wedding in ratty PJ pants and bunny slippers, but if they’re doing it for their husbands, be assured that any groom not overjoyed with the appearance of his bride as she comes down the aisle better not be standing next to her in front of the preacher. That marriage is doomed from the get-go, whether she’s a size three or a size 16.<br /><br /><strong>Beyond that, it’s sad that the pressure to be “perfect” is so pronounced</strong> that otherwise healthy women feel such self-deficiency that they choose to live with a feeding tube shoved up their nostrils and a sack of protein-rich formula attached to their person. They are hunting for happiness that will not be found.<br /><br /><span style="color:#008000;"><em><strong>Ironically, if they re-directed that money to themselves — or even their honeymoons — they would remember the results more fondly, and far longer, than whether they were a size seven or a five when they said, “I do.”</strong></em></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-84808676752992009522012-04-11T14:15:00.003-07:002012-04-11T14:18:13.616-07:00Is Discrimination Acceptable? Fat People Need Not Apply<h2>In <em>certain</em> instances, job discrimination is considered acceptable.</h2><br />For example, a Catholic Priest would have a tough road to hoe to get hired as a Rabbi, no matter how extensive his career background. There’s really no reason NOT to hire him, but it’s just not going to happen, is it? We accept that.<br /><h3>So when is discrimination out of line?</h3><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/obese-waiting-room.jpg"><img class="aligncenter wp-image-4126" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;" title="obese waiting room" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/obese-waiting-room-1024x541.jpg" alt="obesity discrimination" width="297" height="157" /></a>Under federal law, employers generally cannot discriminate on the basis of several factors, including (but not limited to) race, sex, religion, disability, or age (for workers over 40). Yet only Michigan and six U.S. cities ban discrimination against hiring overweight people.</p><br /><strong>I understand — to a point.</strong> After all, a severely obese person might also be very unhealthy. She might not be able to perform her duties, especially involving physical activity. However, is it tolerable to discriminate against her because she doesn’t “look the part?”<br /><br />Citizens Medical Center in Texas now requires potential employees to have a body mass index of less than 35 (about 210 pounds for someone who is 5’ 5”). Their controversial policy states an employee’s physique<br /><blockquote><em>“Should fit with a representational image or specific mental projection of the job of a healthcare professional,” </em>including an appearance<em> “free from distraction” </em>for hospital patients.</blockquote><br /><h3>Lifestyle discrimination has precedent.</h3><br />For example, certain companies will not hire employees who smoke. That, however, is because of the side effects of their behavior, such as higher health care costs or insurance premiums. It is NOT because they do not approve of the smoker’s appearance.<br /><br />What’s different here is that the policy doesn’t indicate costs or side effects; nor does it suggest that obese employees are incapable of performing their tasks. Mostly, it refers to physical form, placing overweight applicants in the same category as those with visible tattoos or facial piercings (which is a whole other discussion).<br /><br />The <a title="National Assocation to Advance Fat Acceptance" href="http://www.naafaonline.com/dev2/" target="_blank">National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance</a> claims, “discrimination plain and simple.”<br /><h3>I agree.</h3><br /><a name='more'></a>If a qualified individual can perform her duties, she should be hired, irrespective of someone else’s “mental projection” of what that individual might or might not look like. Flipping the coin, I, being a male patient, might consider an <em>attractive</em> female staffer “distracting.” Therefore, should all health care providers be covered head-to-toe or fit my person “mental projection” of bland or homely?<br /><br />In our not-too-distant past, we had no “mental projection” of African-American doctors, Hispanic lawyers, or even male nurses. We were ignorant. But this is not 1954 and (hopefully) such restrictive and antiquated notions no longer shackle us.<br /><br /><strong>I realize one can lose weight but cannot change skin color.</strong> However, “fat discrimination” still falls under the same umbrella. I might not like the appearance of one who is morbidly obese, but — let’s be honest — we don’t like much of what I see. Yet there is no right that protects us from viewing what we find distasteful. (If only there was…)<br /><br />Should a ban on obesity be linked to job performance, or even increased liability to the employer, I might be more sympathetic. Also, I don’t know how we would — or even if we should — regulate “appearance-discrimination” rules. Having said that, in civilized society, one expects a modicum of acceptance of others’ choices — especially from the health care field, which deals with us in our most intimate, personal spaces.<br /><br /><em><strong>Ironically, it’s their policy that does not “fit with a representational image or specific mental projection” of such an institution and I would not hire them.</strong></em><br /><br /><span style="color: #008000;"><em> To hear the background behind this column, listen to the podcast. Find it <a title="Audio: Fat People Need Not Apply" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/health/audio-fat-people-need-apply-2/" target="_blank">here</a>.</em></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-57920310010614465472012-04-04T13:46:00.001-07:002012-04-04T13:48:11.144-07:00And You Thought You Were Healthy...Why do flags flap on a windy day?<br /><br />Believe it or not, this is just one of many questions science cannot surely resolve. There are others: What is gravity? Why do we dream? How many species inhabit our planet? Why is it that the freeway lane I choose is always the slowest? (Okay, in all fairness, I really doubt if scientists spend much time on the last question.)<br />Each of us has unanswered questions.<br /><br />Since my field is health, I’ve often wondered why is it that we determine someone’s correct weight based on the Quetelet Index of Obesity, a formula dating back to nineteenth-century Europe? Granted, about a century later we shifted to Body Mass Index (BMI), which is weight divided by height squared. Yet the main premise remained in tact: how tall you are is virtually the sole factor to determine how much you should weigh.<br /><br />That has never made sense to me. Why would a 5’ 6” forty-four year old vegan woman who enjoys yoga and jogs with regularity; and a sedentary man of equal stature who scarfs red meat, French fries, and drives his car 100 yards to the corner store; be considered healthy at the same weight? I have always thought something’s messed up.<br />It appears I’m correct – but I take no comfort in what I found out.<br /><br />A recent study found that the BMI misclassified 39 percent of Americans. Instead of being “overweight,” it turns out they were more accurately “obese.” This is because BMI doesn’t distinguish between fat and muscle, and some folks with “normal BMIs” may harbor dangerously high amounts of fat in their bodies. Without an accurate measurement of how much body fat, the researchers say, millions of people don’t know they are at high risk for a number of obesity-related diseases such as heart disease and cancer, among others.<br /><br />Dr. Eric Braverman, co-author of the study, points out<br /><br /> “Without knowing how much fat you have, you can't really save people from illness. It is the number one predictor of who's going to live or die.”<br /><br />This new method of determining who is healthy is revealing some frightening stats. Of the almost fourteen hundred people studied, 26 percent were classified as obese using their BMI. That number almost tripled to 64 percent when measured with a Dual Energy X-ray Absorptiometry (DXA) scan, which is commonly used to check for osteoporosis, measure percentage of body fat, muscle mass, and bone density.<br /><br />The study discovered that misclassifications were more common in women then men and also increased with age. For example, among women in their fifties, 48 percent more were classified as obese using the DXA instead of their BMI. For women over 70, it climbed to 59 percent. This is because as women age, they lose more muscle to fat than do men. Since BMI does not distinguish between muscle and fat, their classification of “obese” instead of “overweight” — or “even healthy” — would go unnoticed.<br /><br />Braverman and his co-author Dr. Nirav Shah, are suggesting that we lower the definition of obesity to include more people. Currently, “obese” means a BMI of 30 or above. They recommend dropping that to 24 for women and 28 for men. To put that in perspective, under present standards, a 5’ 6” woman is considered healthy at 150. Under these new guidelines, she would be considered obese. (Ouch!)<br /><br />Just when we thought we were starting to turn the corner on the fight against obesity, it looks like we have a lot farther to go.<div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-59317697312594034532012-03-14T16:45:00.003-07:002012-03-14T16:49:47.332-07:00Excellent versus Perfect<a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/excellent-good-fair-poor-checklist.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 235px;" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/excellent-good-fair-poor-checklist.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Did you know there is an International Association of Print House Craftsmen (which has several women members)?</strong> In the day of $99 ink jets and 24-hour print shops, these folks still “bleed ink.” What they construct with printing presses and paper is art – pure and simple.<br /><br />If you didn’t know about the <a title="International Assocation of Print House Craftsmen" href="http://www.iaphc.org/" target="_blank">IAPHC</a>, don’t feel bad. I didn’t either. One of the perks of my occupation is that I get to meet an expansive array of people from a gamut of occupations; some of which I had no idea even existed.<br /><br /><strong>Take the Appraisal Institute.</strong> Never having the experience of buying nor sell multi-million dollar office complexes, I never realized that a spot-on, no variation, exact appraisal on the value of such properties — and hence the interest on the loan to purchase them — can cost one hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars. Decimal points really do matter. The folks of <a title="Appraisal Institute" href="http://www.appraisalinstitute.org/" target="_blank">AI</a> are dedicated to that.<br /><br /><strong>Speaking of decimal points, one of the more mesmerizing people I </strong><strong></strong><strong>have had the pleasure of meeting is <a title="Paul Kingman's website" href="http://paulkingsman.com/" target="_blank">Paul Kingsman</a>,</strong> 1988 Olympic Medal Winner for swimming. That award would not have been his had he been five one-hundredths of a second slower. To understand what a short period of time is that, blinking your eye takes about ten times longer than the difference between Paul’s race time and the person who did not win.<br /><br /><strong></strong>Paul hails from New Zealand and now lives in Northern California. As a speaker and coach, he helps others become “distraction proof;” staying focused on what matters so they can achieve outstanding results, in any manner in which that applies.<br /><br />I interviewed Paul, and although I expected good stuff, I was blown away by what I picked up. We discussed how some things can be simple but not easy. He also pointed out that mistaking “notoriety” for “substance,” especially in this media-consumed culture, often distracts us.<br /><h3>However, as a “recovering perfectionist,” what most resonated was “excellence versus perfection.”</h3><br />In my interpretation, attaining excellence lets us evolve to new levels. Chasing perfection however, leads us to a frustrated place of stagnation.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a>If, for example, I wish to lose 30 pounds, the perfectionist sees black and white. Eat ONLY healthy foods in their EXACTLY proper proportions. Exercise WITHOUT FAIL and expect EVERY WEEK to weigh less. ANYTIME I fall short of expectations, it is deemed a failure.<br /><br />When confronted with a major overhaul of my life and such a strong unlikelihood of success, I will decide the result — as much as I might say I want it — is not worth the effort, and remain cemented in stasis. It’s a plague.<br /><br /><strong>Excellence however is much more forgiving</strong>, and allows us to learn from those areas in which we currently lack. It inspires us to reach further.<br /><br />An “excellent” dancer at age eight will be better at 18, and even further skilled as a grown, trained woman. Each stage was indeed excellent, yet none perfect — as evidenced by the fact that she developed over time. Perfection is impossible; excellence is not.<br /><br />This concept applies to anything at which we persevere. Whether the goal is financial, interpersonal, or better health, the irony is if I seek perfection, I’ll end up about where I started. The only differences are that I will be older and more discouraged. Yet, dedicating myself to excellence transports me forward with regularity and enthusiasm.<br /><br />We are excellent in so many areas without being perfect in any.<br /><h3>That unto itself is an excellent notion.</h3><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><em>To listen to the podcast about this column came about and to hear it read, follow this <a title="Audio: Excellent or Perfect?" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/interview/audio-excellent-perfect/">link</a>.</em></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-70179828115862793612012-03-07T15:08:00.001-08:002012-03-07T15:09:31.122-08:00If I Was King of the World<h2>Should I be anointed Grand Poobah of all things earthly, I would make significant changes.</h2>As a benevolent leader, I wouldn’t be “mean;” but be confident I’d wield my power to appropriately mete out consequences to society’s ne'er-do-wells.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><strong>My first task would be to create a “discomfort pistol.”</strong></p><p class="MsoNormal">Whenever someone did something rude, totally self-absorbed, or incredibly inconsiderate, they would be tagged with an invisible beam by this gun. It wouldn’t cause any damage — but for the next 24 hours, they wouldn’t be able to get physically comfortable, no matter what they did. A good analogy would be a stiff neck or a Charlie Horse. It’s not enough to incapacitate you, certainly not enough of an issue to go to the doctor. Yet, all day, it nags at you and the ache doesn’t quit until you get a night’s sleep.</p><p class="MsoNormal">We would use it on people who talk on cell phones or text in theaters, or aim it at the jerk tail-gating us on the freeway. It would exceptionally appropriate for ignoramuses who park in handicapped parking spaces and don’t need to. Give them — on an extremely minor level — a bit of poetic justice.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Anyone shot with the beam would be all right the next day, but at least for 24 hours, there would be justice. Maybe, eventually, they’d learn.</p><h3 class="MsoNormal">Of course, since fitness is such an issue for all of us, I’d make getting fit more fun.</h3><p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Stationary bicycles would actually transport you to your favorite places — only as long as you were exercising</strong>. <a name='more'></a><strong></strong>Instead of pumping away while staring at four walls, you’d be transported to the warm sands of Maui or peddling along the Yamuna River to the Tajmahal. The more you rode, the more places you visit! When you stopped pedaling however, you’re back in the garage staring at the water heater. If that were the case, I’d never get off my bike. Would anyone?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><strong>While on the subject of health, I have to admit that I think God doesn’t like dieters.</strong> I mean no disrespect to the Almighty, but why does He (or She) make it so easy to pack on a few pounds, yet seemingly impossible to lose them?</p>Think about it. One of the main reasons we eat too much is to seek comfort. We’re stressed. We’re overloaded. We want to escape. So we pull out potato chips, ice cream or chocolate. These high-calorie foods add on the inches — which, when we see what happens to our weight, cause us to stress even more, driving us right back to the kitchen. As Voltaire said, “God is a comedian playing to an audience that’s afraid to laugh.” I’ll admit I’m missing the humor here.<br /><p class="MsoNormal">So, if I wielded unlimited clout, celery and spinach would be comfort foods.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I mean, how healthy would that be? Picture the possibilities. At the end of a tough day (easily validated to others by how much time it takes to recharge your discomfort pistol), you would race home, hug your spouse or partner, kiss your kids, throw on your sweats and hop on your bicycle to relax by pedaling happily down the <span class="toptitle">Champs-Elysées or in awe of the view along </span>the Great Himalaya Trail, all the while happily munching on a soul-satisfying, heart-warmin<span class="toptitle">g bowl of kale and chard.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="toptitle">I know there’s a lot to do, but after I’ve tackled these easy issues, I’ll move on to the more difficult stuff – like banning 24-hour news coverage of drunken celebrities.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:#008000;"><em>To hear the back story about this column - and to hear the podcast, follow <a title="Audio: If I Were King of the World" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/health/audio-king-world/">this link</a>.</em></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-91577851720356844912012-02-15T13:31:00.000-08:002012-02-15T13:32:42.054-08:00Where are my Crayons?<a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/crayons.jpg"><img class="alignnone wp-image-3772" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;" title="crayons" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/crayons.jpg" alt="priorities happiness family time management attitude" height="375" width="595" /></a><br /><br /><strong>I was “row monitor” in second grade; sitting in the last seat making sure the students in my row behaved.</strong> On this day, all was quiet; no one messed with the law when Scott was around. My enforcement duties complete, I was able to turn my attention to the current “quiet time,” period that daily session where we did whatever we wanted, just so it was without sound. Priority one was schoolwork; so I pulled out my assignment list; decorated with pencil-drawn army men and a poorly drawn reproduction of Mighty Mouse. Nothing was pending so I re-filed it, still seeking something to occupy my time.<br /><br />When our assignments were up to speed, we were allowed to retrieve our coloring books and engage our more artistic personae. Eagerly, I flipped pages, seeking the perfect image on which I could express by imaginative abilities. Alas, I had used all 64 colors on every image; every page had been filled; nothing remained<br /><br />Sadly, I folded my hands on my desk, looked up at the ticking clock and waited. <em><strong>I had nothing to do, probably the last time in my life that has ever happened.</strong></em><br /><h3>Fast-forward 50 years…</h3><strong><a name='more'></a>Time is greased in adult life and we must be hyper-efficient.</strong> To that end, while in the shower, I shave with one hand and fill a mug with hot water with the other, allowing for me instant coffee when I step out of the stall. Trying to trim a few more seconds, my electric toothbrush is held in place by my tightened lips as it grinds against my teeth. This “no hands” approach permits me to fasten my tie with my one hand and use the other to fire up my computer so it can sync with my smart phone and send email auto-replies to those who contacted me overnight. A simple auto-log-on program loads my important files, updates my database, and prints my to do list while I use the restroom, allowing me to scrape together a few more ticks of the clock, which I use to brush my hair while doing my business and checking the newspaper.<br /><h3>Really? Is this what life is all about? What happened to me?</h3>Realizing the imbalance, I actually bought an app that shuts off my computer for five minutes every hour, reminding me to take a break. As embarrassing as it is to admit, when the screen starts dimming, I hysterically holler at the monitor, “No! Not now! Please… give me five more minutes!” Fingers become a blurred tornado of typing, attempting to cram in a few more keystrokes before being sentenced to real life. I respond to these forced breaks as if the Grim Reaper was at my door, not as a reminder that there’s more to me than how much is on my hard drive.<br /><h3>If time is the oven in which we all cook, I am using a microwave.</h3>Today’s multi-task-too-much-to-do-and-no-time-to-do-it pace in which we boil has us off balance and unhappy. Like Alice in the looking glass, we run to stay still.<br /><h2>This prompts a question: What really matters?</h2>Seriously, will a conversation with a friend or a stroll down the street really produce a productivity catastrophe? Taking the longer view, in the end, will it matter how many reports we wrote or if our house was Martha Stewart clean?<br /><br />In flashes of sanity, I realize — and I know you do too — that <span style="color:#008000;"><em>the most essential moments are slower-paced, and with those we most cherish. Yet, like the remainder of our lives, they too are whooshing by too quickly and without pause.</em></span><br /><br /><strong>It’s time to take a breath; slow down a little. Turn boil to simmer and break out the coloring books.</strong><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><em>To listen to the podcast and the background of this column, follow <a title="Audio: Where Are The Crayons Podcast" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/health/mental-health/audio-crayons-podcast/">this link</a>.</em></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-23310978337756070222012-02-08T13:37:00.001-08:002012-02-08T13:44:11.526-08:00Keeping Track: Using a Journal or Diary to Lose Wegith<span style="color:#008000;"><strong>When my children were young, I registered their growth on the hallway doorjamb with pencil marks and knife notches.</strong></span><strong></strong>Next to each was inscribed a date and name. Since those statistics are most likely meaningless to the latter owners, I assume sandpaper and lacquer have removed that chronicle; yet I wonder if they left those markings intact, pondering periodically where went “Daniel, January 28, 1988” or “Brandon, April 7, 1989.”<br /><br /><strong></strong><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/woman-looking-at-list.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 229px;" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/woman-looking-at-list.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><strong>Numbers are the language by which lives are recorded;</strong> history is kept; and even how the universe communicates. This does not denigrate the clout of intuition, emotion, nor hunches; yet, the bottom line — quite literally — is what the numbers say. Whether checking the weight of a newborn; success of a business; leadership of a country; or the future of our planet; it’s “in the numbers.”<br /><br /><strong>Our language is strewn with numeric references.</strong> We hope no one “does a number on us,” or that our “number is up.” We “dress to the nines” for elegant receptions, but refrain from becoming “three sheets to the wind.” There are “no two ways about it;” numbers count (um, pardon the pun).<br /><br />It therefore stands to reason that that which we monitor expands our awareness, affording concern or confidence. So logically, if we want to change something about us, we must establish a baseline and “keep score.”<br /><br />This process starts before we can count, as illustrated by how the amount of gold stars on a refrigerator can be extremely effective in fine-tuning a child’s behavior. As adults, step one in altering our lifestyles might involve tracking our accumulation of wealth (or lack thereof), or when we anticipate joyful occasions, “counting the days.”<br /><br /><strong>Of course, that means should better health be the objective, we must track the behaviors associated with those goals.</strong> A smoker can become an ex-smoker by paying attention to how often he lights up and setting targets to lower that count over time. If physical fitness is the desired outcome, we can write down how often — or how far — we walk or run. We record our blood pressure. We check our weight. We can even monitor our attitude.<br /><br />All this has been a preamble to one question: “If we agree that keeping track can make our lives better, why don’t we do it more often?” What’s the resistance?<a name='more'></a><br /><br /><strong>There are only a few reasons why we don’t:</strong><br /><ol><li>We didn’t realize the value of tracking</li> <li>We didn’t know how to do it</li> <li>We really don’t want to change</li> <li>We think it will take too much time</li></ol>Hopefully I’ve debunked numbers one and two. As for the third option, that’s a discussion too intensive to be limited to the 600 words to which I am limited in this venue.<br /><h3>However, as for number four, let’s be honest, shall we?</h3>How much energy does it take to pull out a pad of paper, write the date on the top of each page, and put tick marks on it when we observe a behavior we want to encourage or discourage? What’s that take — a couple of seconds a few times a day to improve your life? It seems like a worthwhile trade off. Even if we make it more complicated (which begs the question, “Why?”), it might inaccurately seem laborious; but when weighed against how much energy it takes to feel bad all day long, the numbers don’t really add up.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><em><strong>Notice:</strong> As of this column, I am pleased to announce that I am now recording my columns as podcasts! Each column includes a bit of the background, as well as me reading it. You can find this particular podcast <span style="color:#0000ff;"><a title="Audio: Keeping Track Podcast" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/health/weight-loss/audio-keeping-track-podcast/"><span style="color:#0000ff;">here</span></a></span>.</em></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-37961420181558999052012-01-11T16:46:00.000-08:002012-01-11T16:49:36.942-08:00Too Many To-Do Lists: A Conversation﻿“Yay! I am finally moving forward on my goals for the year!”<br /><h3><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“Good for you! So, what are these great plans you have?”</em></span></h3><span style="color:#003300;"><em></em></span>“<strong>Well, I always make resolutions and then I give up</strong>. So, I did some research and I found out that experts say if you’re really serious, you have to write them down. So I got organized. I got all these ‘to-do’ lists, each broken down by priority, category, and deadline. And because we’re more likely to change when we focus on the rewards instead of the work, I’ve listed them in this column, ranking them from one to ten. See?”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“Wow! Those are sure a lot of ‘to-do’ lists. You’re going to get a lot done, huh?”</em></span><br /><br />“Sure am! Let’s look at my ‘health’ list. I want to lose 30 pounds, so I devised a strategy. It’s right here. Step one, clean the kitchen of temptation; you know, get rid of the junk food. Then, go to the store and stock up on range-free, organic, all-natural, non-processed, low fat, low-sodium, high-fiber foods. I’m also buying some of those inert non-reactive, toxin-free pots and pans that let you cook healthier. To keep track of my food, I write down everything I eat in this journal over here, including recording the calorie count, as well as fat, fiber, and protein grams. But, I’m not done! Every Sunday, the family meets to plan out the entire week’s meals in advance, which we goes on this list. That way we have a proper healthy dinner every night. What do you think so far?”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em><a name='more'></a>“You sure did think of everything. But at the risk of being practical, how are you going to afford all that?”</em></span><br /><br />“No problem! See, on this register are our financial goals. I meet with an accountant, bookkeeper, and planner every week so we can track each penny we spend, which we record over here. Then I categorize and sub-categorize them — with 64 tags and sub-tags — so I can produce up to 32 daily budget reports. Pretty cool, huh?”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“Oh my! Won’t that take away from time with your family?”</em></span><br /><br />“<strong>We thought of that too; we’ve scheduled nightly, very efficient, family meetings.</strong> Each person is allotted 15 minutes to say what her or she did that day, what their plans are for tomorrow, ask for help — and of course, discuss our feelings. Then we each make our lists, have a group hug, and away we go. You know, experts agree that family time brings you closer. See, it’s all on this agenda.”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“Yeah, nothing says closeness like family time via stopwatch. Um, do you really think the baby needs a full 15 minutes?”</em></span><br /><br />“Oh, yeah, I’ll make a note to change that.”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“I’m very impressed by all this planning. However, I do have one question.”</em></span><br /><br />“Sure, what is it?”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“Where are you going to find the time to do all this? I mean — just saying — it seems like a pretty full itinerary, and you already run such a busy life. Something has to give to add in all these activities.”</em></span><br /><br />“You know, you might be right. I hadn’t thought of that. What do you think I should do?”<br /><br /><span style="color:#003300;"><em>“Maybe you need to take a look at some of the things you’re doing right now that you first need to stop; you know, so you’ll have some time to do all these new things.”</em></span><br /><br />“Hmmmm. That makes sense. I’ll start a new list right away.”<div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-13320848932454425372011-12-28T13:55:00.000-08:002011-12-28T13:58:34.662-08:00Avoiding Family Drama to be Healthier and Happier<a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/familyreunion.jpg"><img class="aligncenter wp-image-3580" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; width: 392px; height: 228px;" title="family reunion" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/familyreunion.jpg" alt="" /></a><br /><h3>Not all family reunions are, well, shall we say, “familial.”</h3><br />Despite the two-dimensional, everything-works-out-in-the-end, sitcom model of American life, some relatives are just not cut from the same cloth. Gatherings can more resemble armed camps across a kitchen table, rather than a joyous reunion of long-parted siblings longing to catch up on the past year’s goings-on.<br /><br /><strong>Alex, her oldest brother, was always hell-bent on proving how much he knew, accuracy be damned</strong>. He over-talked, was excessively loud, and foisted his I-could-be-with-someone-more-important-than-you attitude on everyone from the moment he strutted into a room.<br /><br /><strong>She was yin to his yang</strong>; righting the “injustice,” alone she would step into the fray and engage. Of course, this further amplified the conflict; but it drove her nuts to let him push his way around, ignoring everyone else’s needs.<br /><br /><strong>This year, however, she would not be sucked into his dark drama vortex.</strong> Since her divorce, she was working on accepting things as they were rather than how they “should” be. Therapy, a fitness program, and losing 33 pounds; was allowing her to reclaim her life. She would not let her boorish brother steal that away — not tonight, not again.<br /><br />Mustering a Herculean effort, she engaged Alex in small talk only, and the family reunion fared better than usual. He jabbed, she sidestepped; he blew hard, she refused to blow back.<br /><br />Once the clan dispersed, sans spectacle, the quiet of the house collected around her, and she replayed the events in her head. “I should have told him off! He thinks he’s the only one who knows anything! What gives him the right?” Her inner dialog grew more bellicose and she pondered all the things she could have said — but didn’t.<br /><br /><strong>She might be getting in touch with her “better self,” but she was far from “perfect”</strong> and she realized how agitated she still was. Sure, she kept the peace, but at what price?<br /><br />The kitchen clock chimed midnight; yet she was as awake as if she had downed a convenience store’s inventory of energy drinks. Not knowing how to disperse that excess agitation, she found herself nibbling from a pyramid of dark, cubed, walnut fudge blocks that graced the center of the table. As the sweet texture melted in her mouth, she lost track of Alex, floating away on a cloud of sugary goodness.<br /><blockquote><em>“I really need to stop eating,” she thought, while reaching for another chocolate block. “It’s wreaking havoc on my diet.” Yet she had to admit, nothing soothed the image of Alex like chocolate.</em></blockquote>She could stop right this second, take back control, and be angry; or chow down on fudge mountain, feel great, and look like a blimp. THAT would sure give Alex something to crow about, wouldn’t it?<br /><h4>That’s all it took.</h4><br />Impulsively, she grabbed the plate, rushed to the sink, and poured into it a cascade of fudge bricks. The thought scampered across her mind to reach in and save a few, but she refused to give in and — while still empowered — brushed the remaining cubes into the drain.<br /><h3>The dilemma remained however, how to deal with her pent-up tension?</h3><br /><a name='more'></a>She thought of Alex and pictured his smug mug. She imagined his condescending tone, “Now, now, don’t be so emotional.” Her blood boiled again.<br /><br />Reaching for the garbage disposal switch on the wall, she emphatically, dramatically flipped it, and listened with satisfaction to the grinding from beneath the sink.<br /><blockquote><em>“Not this time!” she said as she quieted the racket. “You don’t control me anymore."</em></blockquote><h4>She slept amazingly well.</h4><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/middle-age-woman-sleeping.jpg"><img class="aligncenter wp-image-3578" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; width: 389px; height: 259px;" title="Woman lying in bed sleeping" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/middle-age-woman-sleeping.jpg" alt="" /></a></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-91650064178031640522011-12-21T13:27:00.000-08:002011-12-21T13:49:24.240-08:00Dear Santa - A List We Could ALL use for the New Year<h3><em>Dear Santa…</em></h3><strong>There are some things I’d like for the New Year.</strong> I know that’s not within your usual bailiwick, and you’re probably pooped from a long sleigh ride, but if you don’t mind…<br /><h2><span style="font-size:100%;">First, please give me good health.</span></h2>My body carries me faithfully from before my birth until my last days. I abuse it and overuse it. I overfeed it and undersleep it. Yet rarely do I appreciate it. Nonetheless, it usually works amazingly well. It doesn't seem to smile as much as I'd like (and it's not quite the size I wanted) but in all modesty, it's pretty cool.<br /><br />My eyes can enjoy the magnificent pink of a rich sunset. My nose can inhale the deep, full scent of a spicy stew simmering slowly on a blustery winter afternoon. My ears perk up to the reassuring tap-tap-tap of light rain on my roof in the middle of the night. And the touch of a lover's hand on my skin, can in a moment, calm and excite me at the same time.<br /><br />Remind me that whatever else I have is worth nothing without my health. When I bend without pain or breathe deeply without effort, make me smile. Let me remember that this is the truest, purest blessing of all. Through this miracle of life, I experience all the universe has to offer.<br /><h2><span style="font-size:100%;">Secondly, please strengthen my connection to family.</span></h2>There are those who came before me; and there are those for whom I am responsible whom I will never meet. Even so, we are connected. In that chain, I am a vital link, the entirety of all that has gone before me and the bedrock of generations still unborn. Each in that string is a part of me as I am of them. We are all of the same stuff.<br /><br />Through the ages and across the miles; today, yesterday, and tomorrow; we will guide each other when we are lost, and we will pick each other up when we fall. Everything I do reflects upon my ancestors and shapes my children of future offspring. I am inextricably connected across time. Remind me each day to take time for my family.<br /><h3><span style="font-size:100%;">Teach me to be a better friend.</span></h3><a name='more'></a>Along my path, I have picked up lasting gems of beauty, some in the oddest and most unlikely places. They vary in color, shape, and age. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but some have faded from memory, yet they all share an inner beauty and spirit to which I find myself drawn.<br /><br /><strong>For each, give me respect.</strong> Fill my heart with love at their sight. Make sure I return to them what they so willingly lend to me. Remind me to tell them more often that their lives have brought wonder and joy to mine.<br /><h2><span style="font-size:100%;">Lastly — but maybe most importantly — give me faith, especially when I feel weak.</span></h2>At such times, point out I am not alone; my focus has merely narrowed. Remind me that, as my mother used to say, all things work toward the “greater good.” That which seems so bent and twisted in the immediate will soon straighten out. Give me patience as it does.<br /><br /><strong>I guess, in re-reading my list, I really already have these.</strong> I forget. So, if there’s a way you can send reminders, I’d appreciate it. Let me notice a moment of quiet in the midst of a noisy day, paint for me a rainbow against the darkness of a late afternoon sky, or let me overhear the elated giggle of a baby girl overjoyed with the simplicity of a bright red balloon.<br /><br /><strong>Be patient please, it sometimes takes a little while before I listen. I’ll work on that.</strong><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Inspirational-cloud-and-sky-scene.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-3540" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;" title="Inspirational-cloud-and-sky-scene" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Inspirational-cloud-and-sky-scene.jpg" alt="" height="480" width="600" /></a></p><p style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. His first five years of these columns are now available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/StrivingBooks </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:78%;color:#800080;"><em>Special note: I originally wrote this piece in a longer form in 2002. If you would like to see the original, you can go to <span style="color:#000080;"><a title="Original letter to Santa" href="http://www.scottqmarcus.com/temporary/Holidays/santaletter.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color:#000080;">http://www.scottqmarcus.com/temporary/Holidays/santaletter.htm</span></a></span></em></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-2011968445351206462011-11-23T13:22:00.000-08:002011-11-23T14:46:46.202-08:00Is Pizza Really a Vegetable?<span style="font-weight: bold;">A “meme” is a basically a “thought virus.” </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/meme.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 211px;" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/meme.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>In the same fashion that influenza infects one person, replicates itself and then spreads to another, eventually infecting large numbers of a population; memes follow the same process through the consciousness of our culture, affecting (or “infecting” if you wish) the way we react or behave. Unlike an “urban legend,” which is a widespread false story wrongly accepted as fact; or a “fad,” which is a behavior that explodes in popularity and quickly dies; a meme is more akin to a belief or a concept that affect our view of society — and therefore how we react to it. <p>As illustration, a recent diet meme was “carbs are bad, protein is good.” This spread so quickly and deeply to the point that some honestly believed that scarfing down a one pound bacon cheeseburger — providing you avoided the bun — was a healthy method of dropping weight. This misguided all-protein diet meme spawned several variations of fad diets. Currently, although the meme might remain, those diets are mostly debunked.</p><p>Today’s column had its impetus because I was (once again) irritated with an action by our “leaders.” In this instance, the meme currently winding its way through conventional wisdom is that Congress has defined pizza as a vegetable. The underlying logic (if indeed it can be classified as such) was that since that a certain amount of tomato paste equates to a “vegetable,” and whereas there is more than said amount on pizzas; they too would therefore be classified as vegetables. </p><p>I imagined children being told by their parents, “If you don’t eat your pizza, you won’t get any dessert,” or seeing the old food pyramid returning with “pesto-chicken pizza” or “double pepperoni” on par with carrots and lettuce. (We can only wish.)</p><p>Umbrage redlining, I sought facts (because unlike some cable news networks, I wish to be accurate) and discovered that although the story is untrue, it is not made up out of whole cloth. What essentially happened is the U.S. Department of Agriculture wanted to increase standards so a half-cup of tomato paste would count as a vegetable serving, instead of the current one-eighth cup. In an over-simplified nutshell (which I fear might also soon be classified as a vegetable), in bowing to the wishes of large agricultural companies — and against the wishes of the Administration — Congress opted to maintain the status quo. Therefore, two tablespoons of tomato paste remain the virtual nutritional equivalent of one half-cup of broccoli, green beans or any other vegetable in a school lunch. (In fairness, Congress did not however re-classify pizza to be a vegetable.) </p><p style="font-weight: bold;">Although somewhat relieved to hear the complete story, it is still disquieting. </p><p>Childhood obesity is at all-time high. The current generation of youngsters might indeed grow up to need as much health care in their middle age as my generation will require in its old age, adding yet additional pressure to an already overly-expensive, ineffective health care system, and lowering the quality of life for two generations (plus burdening those following behind). Would it really hurt to teach them to munch on a carrot or celery stick now and then?</p><p>We cannot regulate what people eat, nor am I an advocate of doing so; but — tomato paste? Really? This too has become a political battle line? If we cannot stop bickering long enough to help develop standards of what we feed our kids, it will be a short leap before chips are equated with bread and wine is considered a fruit.</p><p>About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. His first five years of these columns are now available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/StrivingBooks</p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-73056931901557162002011-11-09T16:08:00.000-08:002011-11-09T16:21:51.048-08:00Who is more stubborn - cats or us?<strong>My wife, <a title="Mary Ann's cat site" href="http://www.theverybestcats.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mary Ann</a>, is one of the most nurturing individuals you will ever have the pleasure to meet.</strong> She is also a passionate advocate for animals. More specifically, one might refer to her as “one of those cat ladies.” I personally would not do that as the result would be that I would spend my evenings in solitary. (Of course, she would spend the night-time with our cats, proving my point. Yet, I think the irony would be wasted on her.)<br /><h3><a href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/tiger-motor-looking-out-window.jpg"><img class="alignright size-medium wp-image-3223" style="margin: 5px;" title="tiger-&amp;-motor-looking-out-window" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/tiger-motor-looking-out-window-300x202.jpg" alt="The Orange Boys" height="218" width="323" /></a></h3><h3>We had three cats.</h3>Sadly, “K.C.,” the elderly matriarch <a title="Farewell to an Old Friend" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/news/newspaper-column/farewelloldfriend/" target="_blank">passed away early this year</a>, leaving the two identical ginger cats, “Tiger” and “Motor.” (Let’s be clear; I did not choose their names, okay?) These “orange boys” are “inside cats,” because our vet said that the best way to ensure your kitties lead a long, healthy, purr-fect life is to not them prowl the streets. As nimble and agile as felines might be, they don’t understand the concept of automobiles.<br /><br /><strong>Within our fenced backyard dwells a third, Birman, cat.</strong> She (we think she’s a “she” but we’re not sure) unexpectedly appeared six years ago, and although she has departed for short periods, she always returns. Exhibiting no fear of us, she’s incredibly affectionate, so we think she was abandoned. Due to her silky, strikingly beautiful, long, silver, and black fur, we call her “Smokey.” (I wanted “Velvet” but was over-ruled.)<br /><br />Since K.C. passed, my wife has wanted to integrate Smokey with the orange boys, especially as the weather turns harsh. Last weekend, she was finally able to convince Smokey to come inside. To help her feel safe (as well as let the other animals acclimate) Smokey stayed in an unused upstairs bedroom, replete with bed, food, water, litter box, and a screened — but slightly open — window, allowing her the ability to survey the neighborhood from on high. After Smokey was given the good-health go-ahead by the vet, we would begin the process of assimilation.<br /><br /><img class="alignleft" style="border: 1px solid black; margin: 7px;" title="Smokey" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Iwdj4yh9f2w/Trn8o8ta6WI/AAAAAAAADcg/dwx3WHldFa8/s400/GEDC0230.JPG" alt="" height="188" width="251" /><br />Until the appointment, my wife checked on her regularly, refreshed her needs, and — in general — kept her company. All was proceeding according to plan until yesterday morning. Upon entering Smokey’s room, she discovered a Smokey-sized hole torn in our screen. During the previous night, Smokey pulled a Steve McQueen and escaped back to the “wild,” only to return to our backyard later in the day as smug as if nothing had happened. She was as affectionate as ever, and despite rejecting the four-star hospitality we had so graciously provided, was only interested in her standard nightly canned food repast.<br /><br />“Why would Smokey prefer to live in the rain and cold instead of in a warm house?” my wife wondered.<br /><br />“It doesn’t make sense to me,” I granted. “However, if you look at it from her point of view, outside is all she knows. Frosty nights and wet grounds might not be pleasant, and she’d probably even enjoy being inside once she got used to it, but sometimes you stay with the discomfort you know rather than take the time to learn about something better.”<br /><br />I’m not a cat; that’s probably evident. But, at least in that respect, humans are not that far removed. How often do we pass up the option for “better,” obstinately remaining with “same?”<span style="color:#003300;"><em> Even after accepting things can be better, we still have to shake up long-held behaviors, and usually, we decide it’s not worth the effort</em></span>. So, on we plod…<br /><br />With enough tuna to keep her belly full, and a warm fireplace by which she can lay, Smokey might have made the switch. <strong>We, on the other hand, can be a lot more stubborn.</strong><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-63667279827489349882011-11-02T15:17:00.000-07:002011-11-02T15:18:57.924-07:00Observations after an accidentThis is my 312th column, putting a period on six years. These thoughts I share every week do not have a “mission statement” or goal per se; however, I always aspire to use the privilege of this space (and your time) to inspire, uplift, and to be supportive in whatever way I can. If I am also able to generate a laugh or two in the process, that makes it all the better. However, whatever my topic, I attempt to tie these dispatches into what I consider the “big picture;” that each of us possesses the ability to be who we wish to be. Whether we indeed want to drop a few pounds, improve our relationships, or just smile more often; the solutions lie not in our actions but in our thoughts, those sparkling connections firing day in and day out between our synapses.<p></p>Let’s take that concept a little deeper, shall we? <p></p>Our thoughts — to a large extent — are altered by our feelings. If I am angry or sad, my thoughts will be unlike when I am happy or excited. Upbeat folks are more inclined to venture down new avenues than depressed folks; who will lean toward stagnation; both of these due in large extent to underlying emotions. Therefore, it makes sense — at least to me — that the more I accentuate the positive, the more I engage in new behaviors. <p></p>Why don’t we do that more often? It’s not that difficult really.<p></p>Underneath these thoughts and their triggering feelings lie beliefs. By example, if I believe that life is painful, it’s much more difficult to modify my emotions to find the positive than if I believe life is glorious. Since we are always looking to validate our beliefs, we find “proof” of them wherever we look. One who believes life stinks will uncover countless examples as evidence. Whereby, one who loves life will find an equal number shoring up her philosophy. In effect, what you seek generates emotional responses, altering your thoughts, leading to different actions, adjusting the outcome of your life. Change your observations; change your life.<p></p>What I have personally observed since my bike accident is a tremendous outpouring of love, support, and good wishes from people I do and do not know. Where I live has some drawbacks; I won’t deny it. Yet, it is also populated with the most astounding, assorted, diversity of magnificent individuals. <p></p>Here’s where beliefs come home to roost. I trust that people the planet over — while not identical — are similar. We rise in the morning hoping to do the best we can, striving to take care of family and to contribute to our communities. We attempt (mostly) to treat others with dignity and respect, and hope that they will do the same with us. We are all fighting — or embracing — the “human condition,” coming from and returning to the same place. We are alike.<p></p>So, if that is correct, and the citizens of my community have been so wondrously caring and compassionate, my beliefs profess that the people where you live are parallel, and that applies no matter where you’re reading this. Logically then, if the world is bursting with people who, at their center, support and assist each other, then this planet is a better place than I gave it credit for being.<p></p>I cannot prove it of course, but I assure you that it’s true. (Besides, it cannot hurt to hold true that belief, can it?)<p></p>Again, thank you for the concern. I’m getting better every day.<p></p>About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.<p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-45589413885580497932011-10-28T12:52:00.000-07:002011-10-28T13:20:14.071-07:00The True Story of Getting Hit by a Car<span style="font-weight: bold;">Yesterday was horrible.</span>I was going to ride my bike to my appointments. The bright sunny clear morning sky cooperated as I headed north on E Street. Upon reaching the intersection of Highway 101, I waited for a green light.Once it changed, a car heading in the opposite direction proceeded into the intersection, as did I. Yet, instead of going straight, the driver turned on to the highway and directly at me. Unfortunately, the laws of physics say only one object can occupy a space at a time; so when a 2,600-pound car and a 180-pound bicyclist collide at the same point in time, one of them will be moved. Of course, that was me — and in a rather forceful manner.Upon the horrifying realization that there was no way to avoid being hit, time slowed down. As I saw the automobile come into contact with me, I thought, “My life is about to change.” The only unknown was “How much?” As the front bumper impacted my leg, I sent up a quick prayer, “please let this be minor, and if not — please let it be quick.”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://extras.mnginteractive.com/live/media/site127/2011/1026/20111026__local_marcus_GALLERY.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 330px; height: 238px;" src="http://extras.mnginteractive.com/live/media/site127/2011/1026/20111026__local_marcus_GALLERY.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><p></p>My bike fell under the car as I rolled on to its hood, smashing into the windshield. I vaguely recall the vehicle continuing to move forward with me on its hood, whimpering. What I later discovered was that I impacted the windshield with enough force to destroy it and was subsequently hurled 20 feet down the road. I remember crashing headfirst on the asphalt, shattering my bike helmet.<p></p><span style="font-weight: bold;">What happened next was nothing short of amazing.</span><p></p>As if guided by an invisible director, people descended on the scene from every bearing. Although conscious, I was — needless to say — confused. I couldn’t tell in which direction I was facing, nor from where the voices came, but I could discern individuals coordinating to direct traffic away from me. I heard cell phones click to life from those calling emergency services. Strangers ran to assist me, and one gentleman — an angel as far as I’m concerned — took my head in his hands to hold me still to prevent further injury, his calm reassuring voice a comfort unlike anything I can remember. With my head cradled in his grip, I knew I could “let go.” Even though there was no major pain, I was moaning, more out of fear. I wanted to sit up to survey what damage had been done to me but this Godsend of a man insisted I be still and he held me firm. He assured me help was coming and he would take care of me until then. The EMTs arrived within seconds, as did the fire department, and police. I felt embarrassed by all the commotion I was causing, and by blocking a major highway, but no one seemed bothered. Everyone was focused on helping me.<p></p>Someone asked if I was okay. <p></p><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">I quipped, “You mean aside from the obvious?”</blockquote><p></p>He laughed; I cannot say how much that meant. That was a hint of normalcy and I so needed it. While the EMTs checked me out and loaded me into the ambulance, I couldn’t help but crack wise. It might not have been the traditional platform for a comedian but — what can I say — when the entertainment bug bites, you just gotta go with it.<p></p>The doctor who discharged me later called me the “Man of Steel.” He said, “For a 57-year old guy to take the impact you took and be able to walk out of this hospital on your own power means you’re either living right, or someone’s looking after you — or both.” (He also said the helmet saved my life.) <p></p>There has been an amazing outpouring of concern for me since the news got out. Everyone asks how I feel. When I woke up today, I realized I had aches in places where I did not even know I had places so my answer is consistent, “Sore and Grateful.” This could have ended with countless other outcomes and with so much more pain and suffering than I am enduring today. As many have pointed out (like I don’t know), I could have died. Yet none of those happened; none; just some abrasions, sprains, and contusions. <p></p><span style="font-weight: bold;">I am lucky beyond calculation.</span><p></p>As importantly, if it wasn’t for the kindness of strangers and the professionalism of the first responders, I’m not sure what would be today. All I know for sure is that I am indeed blessed, and I am reminded yet again that none of us exist in isolation. We come together to help each other and from that action, we become our own better angels. We are benevolent, caring, magnificent beings who — when push comes to shove — will do the good thing. <p></p>I don’t ever want to go through that again; that probably goes without saying. However in some unlikely manner, the faith it has given me, the hope it has provided me, and the reminder of what really matters has sincerely made yesterday one of the best days in my life. I am grateful to everyone who helped more than I can ever express.<p></p><span style="font-weight: bold;">God bless you.</span><p></p><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.</span><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-29437786502292510632011-09-14T12:37:00.000-07:002011-09-14T13:38:43.031-07:00Dieting Stupidity in the Quest of Becoming Skinny<b>In the sixties, the main diet methodology was a purple collection of mimeographed pages covered with a lengthy list of foods and their calorie counts.</b> Dieters were instructed to eat only 1,000 calories. Not knowing how to manage our eating (or we would not have been fat), we’d scarf down our daily allotments before lunch and were then faced with two most unhappy options: a) starve the remainder of the day, or; b) quit. Either way, the process was unsuccessful. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Snake-Oil-Diet.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 200px;" src="http://thistimeimeanit.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/Snake-Oil-Diet.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Frustrated, many opted for easier fad diets; “The Grapefruit Diet,” “Egg Diet,” and “Watermelon Diet,” to name a few. Same results.<p></p>Time marches on but stupidity is eternal; so many continue to engage in diet foolishness. Let’s take a tour of some of today’s more bizarre diets. (I did not make these up.) As they say, “Do not try these at home.” <p></p>We’ll begin with the <i>Vision Diet</i>, based on the logic that if something looks bad, we’re disinclined to eat it. So, don a pear of blue-tinted glasses all day and everything you plan to eat will look disgusting. <p></p>The flaw? Well, aside from the fact that you could hurt your eyes from wearing tinted spectacles too long, the hole is that — for those of us who overeat — we aren’t overly concerned with food’s appearance. Let’s be honest. When you’re gobbling down handfuls of three-day-old leftovers at midnight while standing in front of the refrigerator in your boxers, food presentation isn’t the main criterion by which you’re making culinary decisions.<p></p>Next is <i>ear stapling</i>, whereby surgical staples are placed in the inner cartilage of the ear, supposedly stimulating pressure points that control appetite. (One might assume the constant stress of having sharp objects in your ear would actually cause you to eat.) In actuality, the body shortly gets used to it, so one reverts to old habits — or amplifies the process by adding more, developing an abnormal attraction to office products. <p></p>While on the subject of body altering, make some noise for the <i>Tongue Patch</i>, whereby a one-inch square of mesh is sewn onto your tongue. Unlike medical patches, it contains no medicine. Instead, it merely makes it difficult — even painful — to eat solid food, so the dieter literally starves herself. But wait! There’s more! For $1,500 or more, you get the further benefits of possible choking and nerve damage. Of course, once the patch is removed, old habits return, albeit with a strong craving to chew on your pants.<p></p>Other examples of dietary dumbness include the <i>Cigarette Diet</i>; you smoke instead of eat. Total weight loss is determined by how much your lungs weigh upon removal. The Cotton Ball Diet involves swallowing cotton balls to fill up before eating. One could accomplish the same objective by consuming paper — while having the added benefit of helping to recycle trash. Feed your sweet tooth with The <i>Twinkie Diet</i>. Twinkies, day and night, night and day. Since there is insignificant nutritional value in these not-found-in-nature foodstuffs, you might as well engage in an all-chocolate or all-vodka diet for the same results.<p></p>Finally, winning the “most disgusting award” is The <i>Tapeworm Diet,</i> illegal in the U.S., but still offered elsewhere. One ingests beef tapeworm cysts, which eventually interfere with digestion and absorption of nutrients, generating significant weight loss. Once goal weight is reached, an antibiotic is given, which kills the tapeworm so it can be expelled. Aside from the “yick factor,” other side effects can include cysts in the liver, eyes, brain, and spinal cord with potentially lethal consequences.<p></p>However, just thinking about that is enough to squelch one’s appetite causing a drop of a few pounds — so maybe it does work after all.<p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-82557189901057229712011-08-24T15:18:00.000-07:002011-08-24T16:23:38.477-07:00Working Hard at Relaxing<span style="font-weight: bold;">I’m not dead</span>.<p>At least when I wrote that; I wasn’t. Being the intelligent reader of this column, you put two and two together and surmised that in a flash. Hopefully, as you read this, I am still in the not-dead state of being — and shall remain so for decades yet to come.</p><p>Having proven therefore that I understand very little about what it’s like to die, you will cut me slack about not really knowing — but safely assuming — that no one’s last words were ever, “I wish I would have spent more time working and less time enjoying life.”</p><p style="font-weight: bold;">We would agree, wouldn’t we?</p><p>So, then what’s the deal with non-stop, dawn-to-dusk, 24/7, busy-making? We don’t ever just “chill.” Well, at least I don’t; maybe you do, but I’ll bet dollars to donuts that you’re in the same place. There’s so much to get done with so few hours to do it. </p><p>Forty-hour workweek; what’s that? Wake up. Shower. Shave. Throw some frozen waffles down your gullet while checking the mail and packing lunches. Get the kids to school, pick them up, and beat feet to soccer practice and gymnastics. Straightaway back, homework, meals, brush teeth, and off to bed. To accomplish everything requires groundwork: grocery and clothes shopping, housecleaning, home maintenance, and car servicing. These necessitate steady income — and, oh yes — have you heard the news about the economy? You better not slack off at work or they’ll swap you out quicker than a DVD rental on a Saturday night. So, off to the salt mines, bringing our assignments home so we can get them on our kitchen tables in the morning and the bed stands at night. We’re work harder while having the privilege of paying more for everything. Come end of day, it’s drop like a lead brick off a six-foot wall. </p><p>It’s no wonder we don’t have time for “a life.” Or do we?</p><p style="font-style: italic;">My sister phones, “What are you up to?” She asks.</p><p style="font-style: italic;">I reply, “I’m working hard at relaxing.”</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stop the clock.</span> Re-read that response please: “I’m working hard at relaxing.” Huh? That statement makes as much sense as “same difference,” or “kosher ham;” but I swear it was my reply and I’m betting you relate. Our lives are so cluttered, that if tasks were boxes, we’d be featured on the TV series “Hoarders.” No longer are we human beings, we have become “human doings.”</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Last Saturday, you know what I did? </span>I could have worked on my computer, or mowed the lawn. Goodness know, there were bills aplenty requiring my attention. Nope, didn’t do any of those. Instead, I made a conscious decision to do nothing. </p><p>It didn’t start that way. My dog, Jack, and I went for a walk. Upon returning, he scampered into the backyard, rolled about on his back, feet to the sky; and then did what animals do so well: Absolutely nothing. Zero. He simply “was.”</p><p>I couldn’t remember the last time I did that, so — not having a better plan — I joined him! I didn’t put my feet in the air, but I honest-to-God did lie down in the grass and watched cloud animals pass over my head. I felt the sun on my skin. I let my mind go where it went. For a short time, Jack and I simply appreciated that we exist.</p><p>Even machines have an off switch. Surely we deserve as much as do they. The world’s going to keep on turning, even if you’re not the one who’s pushing. Take a moment and recharge. You’ll get more done later.</p><p style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.</span></p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-63635765937792398762011-08-17T16:12:00.000-07:002011-08-17T16:42:41.873-07:00You just never know<span style="font-weight: bold;">Early morning routine: Jack, my dog, and I are taking our walk.</span> His leash is in my hand, my headphones are clamped over my ears; I am absorbed in the back-and-forth of my favorite podcast. Jack and I; just doin’ our thing.<p>The neighborhood is residential; no major thoroughfares, so I’m quite cognizant of the large diesel truck that rattles up next to us and slows down. Matching my pace, the driver waves at me. I assume he’s just being friendly so I return the action, figuring he knows me from my decades of living in a smaller community. </p><p>He gestures again, this time I recognize he’s motioning me to come over. Pulling Jack’s leash in tight, we walk on to the street and approach the open passenger window. </p><p>The white truck’s interior is clean, uncluttered, and modern, with a flat screen in the center of the dashboard. As for its only passenger, he appears to be in his forties, healthy, short-cropped hair, and brandishing a smile as big as the vehicle and as warm as its motor. </p><p>Leaning toward me across the center console, he opens, “You probably don't remember me…”</p><p>He's correct.</p><p>“…About 25 years ago, I applied for a job working for you. You didn't hire me.”</p><p>“I'm sorry.” A slight rumbling of anxiety bubbles in my belly. Is this some form of latent workplace revenge? </p><p>“No need to apologize,” he quickly adds, waiving away the thought with his hand. “You were very nice and polite. You told me that you thought I was overqualified and that I would get bored, and you felt my talents would be better used elsewhere. I took your advice.”</p><p>The truck continues its diesel clattering, I move in closer to hear better.</p><p>“I wanted you know that I now run this company; it’s worth a few million dollars. I'm really happy how things turned out. You were right.”</p><p>Pleased (and relieved), I respond, “Oh! I’m glad. Maybe YOU should hire ME.”</p><p>His laugh is warm, friendly, and relaxed. I suddenly feel like I’m talking to an old friend.</p><p>“I see you with your wife walking your dog, and I keep meaning to tell you how grateful I am. But it never seemed the right time — until now.”</p><p>“Thank you for doing so. I’m really delighted it worked out so well. It’s nice to know.”</p><p>Cars line up and are then forced to drive around us, so, as much as I’m now enjoying this unexpected interlude, I’m self-conscious, and figure I better move on. Before I can, he adds, “Sometimes the Lord pushes you in directions through the people you meet. You are one of those people.” He pauses and looks me in the eyes. “Thank you.”</p><p>With that, we shook hands through the window, said goodbye, and the truck disappeared around the corner.</p><p>I remained a statue in the road, and reflected on what just happened. I was humbled, uplifted, honored, and — in some way — I had a more pronounced sense of purpose. I don’t know how else to explain it. </p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">We never know, do we, when an action we take will affect someone else in a profound manner?</span> We take care of our families, and ourselves, and in between we try to do our best to treat others with respect and dignity, hoping and praying it all turns out well in the end. Once in awhile, we are lucky enough to find out it did.</p><p style="font-weight: bold;">What we do matters – in ways we might never even begin to know.</p><p style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CRP of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.</span></p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-5613051478462078052011-08-03T14:16:00.000-07:002011-08-03T14:49:23.065-07:00How Your Emotions Can Affect Long-Term Change<span style="font-weight: bold;">Between the covers of the business book currently on my nightstand, the author devotes few pages to discussing cash flow or spreadsheets, while much ink is dedicated to changing one’s thoughts about money.</span> It is her premise that our income basically determined more by how we think than by the actions we take. Of course, those considerations then produce behaviors, which lead to results. Therefore, if we “dig down” and adjust them, we will do what we do in an altered manner. This provides fresh results improving our business. <p style="font-weight: bold;">In effect, change your thoughts; change your financial life. </p><p>The barricade is our ol’ buddy, Denial. </p><p>Thought patterns, much like a river cutting a path through granite, our etched into our psyche over time, with much repetition. To refashion such embedded patterns takes a great deal of effort — and it’s not like we’re not busy already, right? Besides, “there’s always tomorrow.”</p><p>The author suggests that such transformation only occurs once “we’re hit by a two-by-four.” Of course, she’s speaking figuratively, not literally. (I hate it when people say “literally” when they mean “figuratively.” Sorry, pet peeve…)</p><p>Let me expand: Suppose you’re in a floundering relationship. You didn’t get there overnight; it began subtly, “the small things.” For example, you don’t talk as much. “It’s no big deal,” you think, “We’re just busy right now.” That might be accurate; having said that, “something” still feels off. But, you put it to back burner until you have more evidence — or time.</p><p>After awhile, your “couple’s time” becomes more sparse. You are roommates more than partners, on parallel tracks with no intersections. Logically, you can explain it away. “We’ve both got so much on our plates; things will get back to normal soon.” No action taken.</p><p>Soon, intimacy, in all its forms, has become a memory. There is now real distance, even a bit of resentment. Nobody brings anything up; you’re not even sure you want to broach the subject. Also, the chasm is now an additional barrier. Oh sure, you’re thinking about “making some changes” when things settle down. For now, it’s “stay the course.”</p><p style="font-weight: bold;">Then comes the two-by-four: He wants “out.” </p><p>“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” he says, in a difficult, unexpected (?), conversation. “We’ve grown apart.”</p><p>It’s a pattern experienced by millions of couples. Despite the warnings, and their ever-increasing appearances, we are able to rationalize what’s going on, while denying what we felt. Therefore, for most, it takes getting slammed upside the head with a brick (again, “figuratively”) before we do what must be done. This is in any facet of our lives, from our relationships to diets to finance. </p><p>Newton’s first law of motion says that a body in motion will remain in motion unless acted on by an external force. In effect, we will do what we do until, painfully; we can no longer deny the results of our actions. Once at that place, we are so overwhelmed, that it seems an insurmountable problem and we remain stagnant in unhappiness.</p><p>First of all, it is not undefeatable if we break it into small steps, and engage in them with regularly and immediacy. </p><p>That stated, it’s still healthier to avoid that unhappy condition by understanding the urgency of emotions when it comes to moving forward. Look at it this way; our feelings are the gasoline fueling the engine; logic is then the steering wheel. Without the first, we’re going nowhere. Without the latter, we’re out of control. Developing both is essential to leading a happy, well-adjusted life.</p><p style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.</span></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-71373113486624172572011-07-27T12:58:00.000-07:002011-07-27T13:28:31.749-07:00Can We Be Social Without Going Out to Eat?I hadn’t seen him in years even though we live in the same town. You know how it is, I’m busy, so is he. Time got away from us. It’s not like we had a disagreement, or we didn’t want to see each other; it’s just that, well, life kicked in…<p>I answered the phone, “Hey Scott,” says he, “I just realized that we haven’t gotten together in a long time and we’ve got so much to catch up on. I thought we could schedule a time.”</p><blockquote><p>"Sounds great,” I replied, “I can do lunch next Thursday. If that doesn’t work, we could get coffee in the afternoon, or, on Wednesday, we could meet early and grab a bagel. Where would you like to go?”</p><p>He responded, “You know the park with the duck pond?”</p><p>“Yes, the one with all the trails?”</p><p>“Yeah, that one. What about Thursday at noon?”</p><p>“Sure, that works for me. But I’m not familiar with any restaurants there.”</p><p>“There aren’t any. I’ve been trying to get in shape, and I know you’re always watching your weight, so I thought we could walk and talk. It would be nice to catch up outside.”</p></blockquote><p></p><p>And so we did. But, can I be honest? It felt really weird; kind of like wearing someone else’s clothes. It seems normal enough at first glance, but you just can’t get comfortable. </p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">I mean, think about it, what’s one of the first questions we ask when we decide to meet up with someone: Lunch or coffee? </span>If you really wanted to crash our economy, ban meetings in restaurants or coffee houses.</p><p>I’m sure it goes back to primitive times. It’s conceivable (at least to me) that early Australopithecines at day’s end gathered around a half-devoured gazelle and discussed their events on the plains. After all, a leisurely grunting session with some close hominoids after a long period gathering, scavenging, and escaping from carnivores would be welcome.</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Although the evolutionary train has pulled out, our habits have not.</span> We celebrate with food. We do business over dinner. Relationships begin — and end — at restaurants. Even our last tribute, the wake, is deeply intertwined with eating.</p><p>There’s nothing wrong with these; don’t get me wrong. But one has to admit, that for most of us, it’s hard to picture doing anything else with each other. If we’re looking to adjust our collective waistlines and get in shape, maybe we need to examine some options. After all, there are book clubs, quilting circles, or even video games.</p><p>My son was in town; this usually involves copious amounts of food. Under the television lies our unused video console; the wireless type specializing in sporting events, where one creates icons to compete against each other.<br /></p><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote>Said he to me, “Bet I can take you in a sword fight."</blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><p></p><p>I might be 30 years his senior but I still have testosterone; I couldn’t let that stand.</p><p>Our characters faced each other. The battle was joined. After several close rounds, lots of laughter, a great deal of sweat, and exclamations of “You’re toast!” or “Take that,” age indeed triumphed over youth.</p><p>More important, I can already tell it will be one of my favorite memories, far more than yet another trip to yet another restaurant. Plus the added bonus is I got to show him he’d still better not mess with his old man. (Of course, I still can’t lift my arms; but I’ll deny it if you tell him.)</p><p>About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com.</p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-11518092071018637642011-07-20T14:11:00.000-07:002011-07-20T14:20:51.298-07:00Handling the food addiction: What to do when slip-ups happen<span style="font-weight: bold;">He was celebrating four years of sobriety.</span> When I asked how he knew it was time to initially seek help, he said, “I finally realized I had no control over alcohol. I thought about it all the time. I couldn’t wait to drink. I was obsessed with it.” As I listened, I thought, “Substitute the ‘food’ for ‘alcohol,’ and that’s me.” It was one of the triggers in getting me to lose my weight.<br /><br />It was also the instant I realized that overeating is every bit as much of an addiction as drugs or alcohol.<br /><br />We don’t like to think of overeating as an addiction for several reasons. First of all, it’s part of the norm to eat too much. That would make us a country of addicts, and true as that might be, we sure don’t want to admit it. Moreover, there are no age restrictions, you can do it in public, and it’s legal. Eating too much might make you fat, but a cop won’t pull you over for a 300-triglyceride level, it won’t cause you to black out, nor do unwise things you’ll regret with morning’s light.<br /><br />Merriam-Webster’s Medical Dictionary defines addiction as, <span style="font-style: italic;">“persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be physically, psychologically, or socially harmful.”</span> Let’s be clear; when you’re hiding goodies in your purse, lying on the bed to tighten your belt, or avoiding social gatherings because you’re afraid of the reactions; it’s a safe bet you’ve met the entry qualifications for addicted.<br /><br />The bigger problem is, unlike the more nefarious addictions, we cannot “just say no.” As difficult as it might be, an alcoholic can swear off booze, and a smoker can refuse cigarettes. We, however, must continue to indulge while learning to set arbitrary, always shifting, sometimes ill defined limits about what constitutes “too far.”<br /><br />Sure, a half-gallon of ice cream is a pretty clear violation of self-control. One could say the same for a quart, maybe. But where do we draw the line? Is a cup all right? What about two? To the alcoholic, an ounce is too much. For us, where does it start?<br /><br />Let’s set the stage: A healthy, thin person consoles herself after a rough day with “chocolate therapy,” downing a pint of fudge-brownie-chocolate chunk ice cream and a couple of devil’s food cookies as a chaser. After sharing with her co-workers the next day, they all laugh knowingly.<br /><br />“I’ve been there,” says one, “Sometimes, you just need to go with it.”<br /><br />No one thinks she’s addicted. She looks great. She’s healthy (albeit sporting a humongous sugar buzz). Yet, when I do the same actions for the same reasons, I’m out of control?<br /><br />See, it’s not really about the overeating, but the internal dialog. A healthy personality analyzes the calorie overload and thinks, “Well, that was over the top. I better cut back tomorrow” — and she does, regaining her balance.<br /><br />The food addict blows it out of proportion, thinking, “Oh my God! I blew it! How could I do this? This is awful! I can’t believe what an idiot I am!” Berating her very worth as a human being she finally decides she’s a complete failure. With that observation, she gives herself permission to let herself totally go and accelerates over the cliff.<br /><br />Yeah, we’ve got issues. Yeah, it stinks. But handling mistakes is part of the process. If guilt and shame were motivational, we’d be skinny as rails. It’s not about perfection. Everyone slips up; success will be determined in how we handle it afterwards.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-39202359536167618092011-07-06T13:52:00.000-07:002011-07-06T14:29:17.374-07:00Things Are Not As Bad As We Make Them Out To Be<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N7efk_iI0ac/ThTTnIqkR5I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/jFHfZgwFsXc/s1600/grouchy-bull-dog.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N7efk_iI0ac/ThTTnIqkR5I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/jFHfZgwFsXc/s320/grouchy-bull-dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626354503786973074" border="0" /></a><br />Complain, complain, complain…<p><span style="font-weight: bold;">My, but we’ve become a grouchy lot, haven’t we?</span> Maybe it’s climate change, or the economy; who knows? It could be the alignment of the stars for all I know, but we’ve got our cranky pants hitched on and we’re wearing ‘em a little too snug around our sensitive parts. </p><p style="font-style: italic;">Okay, maybe YOU are not cranky, but many of us are, and if you won’t own it, I will. </p><p>I’m at the supermarket loading up on low-calorie, high-fiber, sugar-free, non-fat, no-taste foods that I force down my gullet in order to keep my weight in check. I really want chocolate, french fries, and chips; but that’s not happening, so I’m feeling deprived. Adding insult to injury, I don’t have time for this errand, but since my refrigerator resembles an arctic cave, I’m cooling my jets in the check out line. The lady in front of me waits until after the clerk has totaled all her groceries before she takes out her checkbook, enough of a trigger to kick my internal curmudgeon into overdrive, <span style="font-style: italic;">“Hey lady!” the voice in my head screeches. “You didn’t realize you were going to have to pay for this before hand? Couldn’t you have check ready when you got in line … besides you’ve never heard of debit cards?!!”</span> Since I won’t comment out loud (I’m too “polite”), I roll my eyes, exhale with exasperation (making sure she hears it), shift my feet restlessly, cross my arms, and set my attitude to low burn.</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Or have you ever had your cell phone drop a call?</span> Jeeze! That irks me! It wasn’t even a particularly important call, and to be honest, I didn’t want to talk to him anyway, accidentally selecting ACCEPT instead of DECLINE because the layout of the phone is so stupid. Nonetheless, I’m now heavily vested in commiserated about how his 62-inch 3-D TV’s glasses suck. Really? That’s your grievance? There are people who would love simply to witness a sunrise, and you’re grouchy because your nifty cool absolutely amazing invention doesn’t come with rechargeable batteries? I mean, come on! Yet, I’m empathizing — at least until his call explodes in a burst of static and I detonate a blast of curse words at my phone, cellular carrier, and even the government for allowing such inferior systems to get to market. </p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Time for a chill pill</span>; on the grand scale of life, most of what rankles us is not even a blip on the radar screen of “real” problems; it’s microscopic. Half the time, we don’t even remember it long enough for it to survive the ride home, let alone why we got so upset in the first place; yet we’re singing “ain’t it awful” with the volume on full.</p><p>I’ve got a phone in my pocket that connects me to anyone on the planet, lets me watch family movies, listen to music, and take photographs. It’s got more power than the entire computer system on the Apollo space crafts; and I have the gall to launch a hissy fit because I have to push REDIAL? Or I complain about having to drop a few pounds — while half the planet would beg for what I throw away? Spoiled, you’re table’s waiting.</p><p>We don’t live in a golly-gosh-gee-willikers fog of happy thoughts and pink ponies; I’m not saying that either. Sometimes, life is tough, sure. But equally true is that most of our “problems” are better than what most of the people on most of the planet face most of the time. </p><p style="font-weight: bold;">For that I need to be mostly grateful.</p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><span style="font-size:85%;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. </span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458964.post-32354460772826959722011-06-29T13:40:00.000-07:002011-06-29T13:43:43.092-07:00Dog Trains Man: How a Rescued Dog Taught Its Owner New Tricks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v4IKalbRIys/TguOZyLzCUI/AAAAAAAAAEI/mUMbGA8uK24/s1600/Jack%2Bwith%2Bblurry%2Bbackground.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 520px; height: 363px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v4IKalbRIys/TguOZyLzCUI/AAAAAAAAAEI/mUMbGA8uK24/s320/Jack%2Bwith%2Bblurry%2Bbackground.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623745133321324866" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I’ve heard tell that dog owners (or “guardians” as some prefer) look like their dogs. </span>I did not realize with how much haste that transpires.<br /><br />We have been considering adopting a dog for a few years. As with any important project, we began by identifying what we wanted. One, he must be a rescue dog. Two, she must not be bothered by our two cats (of course how they respond to the dog will be their decision). Three, we wanted a smaller dog that had some personality but was not hyper. Those were the “must haves,” the remainder were “would likes.” We surfed websites, monitored our newspaper, and checked shelters and animal control with regularity.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Welcome “Jack.”</span> He’s a five-year old mini-Schnauzer with a persuasive, mostly subdued personality who loves our backyard, follows me like a shadow, is housebroken (yay!), and even understands some commands, allowing me the option to train him even more; something I wanted. While I write, he has already taken to lying in his bed, apparently content to watch me type. (I guess he’s hard-pressed for entertainment.)<br /><br /><br /><br />As for similarity — although I did not think of it when I picked him up; he already resembles me (or I do him). His hair, although dark of base, is basically “silver,” slightly disheveled, and he sports a gray goatee in need of a shave. More striking is that he is also into yoga; I’ve seen him doing “downward facing dog” repeatedly. (Insert rim shot here…)<br /><br />The one attribute of which I am NOT fond is that, although he slept through night one without incident, he is evidently an early riser, quite contrary to myself. A perk of self-employment with one’s home as the office, is the ability to grab a few extra winks each morning, since my commute consists of four stairs. Alas, I fear those days have passed, as Jack is part rooster, prone to rise with the sun (especially ill-fated since this is summer and first light is unfortunately early).<br /><br />Therefore, today, I awoke far earlier than was my pattern. My wife, snickering wickedly, commented, “Looks like your days of staying up late are over.”<br /><br />Growling (yet another similarity with a dog), I dragged my carcass from my bed to begin this new, unexpected routine. Change had once again scampered into my life, this time in the form of a twenty-pound canine that could not wait to take a walk. “I must teach him the command, ‘sleep,’” I wearily lamented as I secured him in his harness.<br /><br />But that’s the way it is, isn’t it? We make our plans and move forth into the yet to come. We believe we’re in control — but it’s illusion. Life steers; we are passengers. Whether changing how we eat, seeking mental health, developing relationships, financial planning, or simply adopting a furry friend, the results of our actions cannot always be predicted nor controlled.<br /><br />So, once again, I am fine-tuning to the unexpected, a progression without end, and one in which we all engage non-stop. Sometimes, the adjustments are painful; other times, thank God, they are minor. Yet it is unavoidable.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I detest getting up early; it fouls my mood. </span><br /><br />But, conversely, I can be buoyed by the outpouring of warmth from this newfound community of “dog people,” which has already been as heartwarming and loving as the joy elicited by Jack when I reach for his leash and we head out into the (too early) morning. It’s my choice.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Now, which one of us is really training the other?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">About the author: Scott “Q” Marcus is a professional speaker and the CDO of <a href="http://www.thistimeimeanit.com/">www.ThisTimeIMeanIt.com</a>, a website for people and organizations who are frustrated with making promises and are ready to make a change. Sign up for his free newsletter at the site or friend him at facebook.com/thistimeimeanit. He is also available for coaching and speaking engagements at 707.442.6243 or scottq@scottqmarcus.com. </span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">For more information on Scott "Q" Marcus, and more articles by him, go to: http://www.scottqmarcus.com/articles.html</div>Scott "Q" Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07453048574900584150noreply@blogger.com0